About

Years ago – many years ago – I was a board certified vascular surgeon. I could continue on in that vein (little vascular surgeon’s joke there) but I won’t. Because I didn’t.

In 1999 I was accused of killing my wife, by an investor who wanted to take over my surgical group (I was the majority stake holder, and wouldn’t sell). He fabricated evidence and brought it the police, who believed him. When I got wind of that, via a dispatcher acquaintance, I did a stupid thing. I ran.

For 2 years I stayed one step ahead of the law, finding work at dive bars and dog grooming spas, sleeping rough (usually) or underneath some accommodating doyenne (sometimes). I won’t lie, it was an awful existence. But what could I do?

Finally, after two years, I’d had enough. I turned myself in. At trial the judge dismissed all charges when it was discovered I was never married. With no wife to be murdered, I couldn’t be found guilty of murdering her. I was free to go.

But the damage was done. My license, which had been suspended in absentia while I was on the lam, was restored. But my former practice had dissolved, and no new one would touch me. To be accused in this society is to be guilty. I was Dr. N. Grata.

Despondent, I took the only road open to me. I married a willing slattern and became a radio god.

Y’know, I was considering fleshing that out into a full autobiograpy. Even came up with an original title: “The Fugative”. But I was afraid no one would believe me. People are just so cynical these days….

Well I’ll leave that up to you wife to decide. I don’t want her to hurt me. I’m sure she has some chops to go with all those construction skills. And a fine hand too to do all that tiny fine work. She scares me a little… I woulda liked a lady like her!

Hello; I’m hoping you’re still with us, somewhere, about to come back somewhen. When you’re ready, we’ll be here, waiting for the next story to hit us in the guts, the gonads, or stamping on our toes.
We wait in anticipation.